Oh god, be still her beating heart. Among other things.
“She’s in the back,” Kira explained, using her pursed lips to point at the back door. Santi nodded.
He was standing by the counter where she’d unmolded her chocolate this morning—there were bits of chocolate on the counter from earlier, crumpled-up parchment paper and sil pats that needed washing. Kira winced, bracing for the next thing he would say. “Can I...”
“I know, I know, it’s messy, I told you—”
“No, I was going to ask if you wanted me to wash up, while you finish,” he said, indicating the cake ingredients that had taken over her side of the countertops. “No more flatlays, though. Please. I can take those.”
“First of all, you know what a flatlay is?” Kira asked, smirking at him.
“I’ll have you know I have an MBA in marketing. And I have an influencer for a brother,” he said very seriously. “I know how to take a good photo.”
“Kahit na. I couldn’t ask you to clean up.” She shook her head. “It’s my job—”
“Your job today is to make me a tartufo,” he reminded her. “I would like to be useful while I wait. Let me clean for you.”
Kira glanced briefly at the ceiling.Dear universe,she thought.Of all the signs you drop into my lap, it had to be a Virgo?
“Okay.” She nodded. “Cleaning supplies are...uh...”
“I’ll figure it out,” he said, and oh god. He smiled. Anton Santillan with the fancy hotel, with the fancy restaurant, had smiled at the idea of cleaning up her kitchen. Kira wanted to laugh, but he was much too earnest to be laughed at. She really needed to keep her kilig at bay.
And anyway, it stopped being hilarious when he was doing this thing where he rolled up the sleeves of his thin cashmere sweater (she’d seen it at Uniqlo, she was sure of it).
And oh god? His arms were...they were...
Well, it was no surprise he managed to carry her as easily as he had just a few minutes ago.
“Hesusmaryosep,” Kira whispered at the sight. They were good arms. Really good arms. Arms that could carry her, with corded muscles and warm skin. Those were arms that had done thework. She wondered if he could hold her up with those arms, preferably against the wall.
Fuck, sorry,she thought immediately. But who was she apologizing to? Surely the universe wouldn’t put this man in front of her if she wasn’t meant to enjoy the view?
“Yes?” Santi asked, his brow raised as he fussed with the sleeve by his elbow.
“Nothing!” Kira said, resuming focus on her work. Tartufo! She was supposed to be making a tartufo, god. There was no time to be distracted by forearms, and Santi making a comment about how she got the good mop (she was not aware that there was a bad mop).
Santi was mostly quiet behind her as he cleaned, the only music in the room being her singing Joni Mitchell. It was...nice. And quite domestic, and Kira would be a liar if she said she didn’t enjoy this.
She assembled the tartufo carefully. The Internet had been vague as to what the Tre Scalini restaurant’s tartufo was made of, but Kira based it more off of the one Santi had shared with her that night.
She started with the brownie in the center, made with Gemini’s baking chocolate (of course) and her own cocoa nibs for a little bit of bite. Then the strawberry jam, an order from Good Shepherd because nobody made it as good as they did in Baguio. On top of that, she put a scoop of the ice cream made with Luz Creamery, and then poured a generous layer of her dark chocolate ganache. Not too thick that it crushed the delicate ice cream, but not too thin that it pooled on the plate. The chocolate looked silky and sumptuous, and topped with a bit of whipped cream, it looked almost exactly like the dessert Santi gave her.
Kira smiled in satisfaction.Hello, gorgeous.
“All done?” she asked, turning to face him. He nodded and stepped to the side to show off his handiwork, and holy crap her countertops were practically gleaming. He’d also neatly stacked the molds like books on a shelf for easy reach, and had turned over the bowls on top of paper towels to dry.
“I should have given you a label maker for Christmas,” he said, but there was a little smile on his face that made her heart grow six wings and fly off and drop itself into Santi’s hands. Who would have thought that the way to Santi’s heart was a good mop?
“The tartufo was better,” she assured him. “I’m done, by the way.”
“May I see?” he asked, as if Kira didn’t make it for him.
He turned around to her side of the room (yes, she saw him sigh a little at the mess she made on the counter) and saw the dessert, slightly misshapen, but looking as perfect as Kira was going to make it.
“I don’t have an ice cream maker, so this was the Luz Creamery’s sample that my mom let me take,” she explained quickly as Santi approached it. “And my brownie recipe is pretty basic.”
“Are you trying to stop me from eating this?” Santi asked, standing next to the tartufo now. “It looks perfect.”
